The Big Picture (3 page)

“I do regret not being able to attend. And it was so nice of the director of the girls’ home to invite me — Mrs. Smartie or whatever her name is.”

“Mrs. Smartly,” I growl.

“What have the last few months been like for you?” Millie touches a hand to her blonde wig. “Did you move back to your previous town? Where are you working?”

My mom’s eyes dart to me then to the floor. “We lost our old trailer when I was . . . um, incarcerated. So I decided to just start over fresh.” She grins and pats my leg again. “We’ll be living in a nicer trailer park this time. You’ll have your own room. And I’m working at a local beauty shop. I’m a shampoo girl. But if I like it, I may go back to school and get my cosmetology license.” Mom beams with pride. “Things are gonna be different, Katie. You’ll see.”

Maybe she is making an effort to turn her life around. Maybe things will be better.

“Due to good behavior, there’s a chance Katie could live with me sooner than we thought. Maybe in a few weeks.”

“Well, we’ll have to call Mrs. Smartly, of course. Arrangements will need to be made, the proper procedures followed.” Millie twirls the wedding ring on her finger.

“And Katie only has three weeks of school left. You wouldn’t want her to miss her semester finals. It could be detrimental to her grades.”

Mom chuckles at James’s words. “Grades were never Katie’s thing anyway, so I don’t really see it would matter where she finishes her semester at.”

“I have good grades.” Ice shoots through my veins. “I’ve worked really hard. It just so happens I’m smart.”
Take that, Mother
. And I plan to grow up to be more than an entrepreneur of drugs.

“Katie has worked very hard. My husband and I are extremely proud of her.”

James nods. “We are proud of her for many reasons. She’s learned to drive and is doing well.”

Yeah, haven’t hit anything in days.

My foster dad continues, “Did you know she got saved last month?”

“No, I don’t believe I did.”

“I told you about it in my last letter.” You know, one of the many you didn’t respond to. “Maybe the mailman lost that, too.”

“Katie is quite involved in our church. She did some mission work with the youth over spring break.” Millie sends a wink my way. “She’s just an absolute joy and — ”

Slam!

“Everybody freeze!” Maxine’s voice carries from the foyer into the living room. “Big news!
Big
, big news!”

“We’re in here,” James calls, then turns back to my mom. “My mother-in-law.” James and I share a look of amusement. Mom’s about to endure Hurricane Maxine. Only the strong survive.

Maxine runs into the living room, skidding to a halt on the hard-wood floor. “Sam asked me to marry him.” She grabs her daughter and gives her a shake. “Did you hear me? Sam asked me to be his Mrs. Dayberry!” Maxine plants a smacking kiss on Millie’s lips.

“Oh, good. You’ll have a daddy again, Mil.” James sips his coffee. “Can I help you pack, Maxine?”

Maxine cackles. “
Bah!
Not so fast. Sam wants to get married next week.” Maxine turns a little green at the idea. “But I don’t know. My schedule’s pretty booked with a pedicure and a foil highlight.”

Millie frowns. “Next week? Is there a reason for the rush?”

James coughs. “I could think of about seventy-eight of them.”

Maxine ignores him. “Millie . . .”

“Yes?”

“I’m pregnant.” Maxine throws herself into a chair and chuckles. She wipes her eyes, surveys the room, and stops cold. “Who are you?” Her blue eyes narrow on my mother.

“Mom, this is Katie’s mother, Bobbie Ann Parker.”

Maxine stands up and instead of offering Mom a hand to shake, she paces in front of her, staring Mom up and down. “You can’t take her.”

“Mother!” Millie gasps.

“She can’t!” Maxine clutches her chest. “How can I get married without Katie?” She grabs my hand. “You have to be my maid of honor.”

I smile, despite the weird tension in the room. “Don’t you have friends more your own age?”

“They’re all dead.”

I squeeze her hand back. “No butt bows.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it.” Maxine returns her attention to my mom. “Are you staying in town long? I’m afraid all our rooms here are occupied. We had some storm damage from a tornado in February, and the repairs have yet to be completely finished. I’m Katie’s roommate.”

Mom shifts uncomfortably beside me. “I had planned to take Katie back for the weekend, but the Scotts pointed out it will have to wait a few weeks until I fully regain custody. I guess I was just so excited to have a weekend off and see my daughter, I didn’t think. Is there a hotel in town I could stay at tonight?”

“We can find room for you here, Bobbie Ann.” Millie stands and collects the coffee cups. “You can have our room.”

“Their bed has lumps.” Maxine runs a hand through her yellow-blonde hair. “It’s a good bed to jump on, but won’t do much for you if you want a good night’s sleep.”

James rises and puts an arm around his wife. “Of course you can stay with us. Spend some time with Katie here.”

“Supervised time you mean? With my own daughter?”

James nods, his eyes on me. “Yes.”

Mom chews on her lip and watches me. Does she see all the confusion on my face? The doubts scrolling across my forehead?

“If you could direct me to a hotel, that would be nice. I think I’ve probably crowded you all enough today.” She laughs nervously. “I’ll see you in the morning though, Katie. Okay?” My mom pulls me into a hug, and I catch the faint whiff of cigarette smoke. I guess I can’t expect her to give up every vice.

We walk my mother to the door, and I stand there behind the screen and watch her drive away in an old Mercury.

“Wow, who saw
that
coming?” Maxine slaps me on the back.

“I know. I had begun to believe she would never contact me.”

Maxine frowns. “No, I meant this.” She sticks her hand in my face, and a giant diamond glitters on her finger. Maxine walks upstairs, singing an off-key rendition of “Going to the Chapel.”

Hours later I lie in bed and stare at the ceiling in the dark. A million thoughts explode like fireworks in my head.

“Katie?” Maxine whispers from her bed across the room.

“What?”

“I can’t do it. I can’t marry Sam.”

The knot in my stomach tightens as I add one more problem to my list. “Maxine?”

“Yes, sweet pea?”

“I can’t go home.”

Chapter three

SIX THIRTY.

Saturday.

I’m awake at a time when most roosters are just thinking about crowing and no self-respecting teen would be up.

I jerk the covers over my head and groan.

God, what are you doing with my life? I hand it over to you, and then you totally detonate it?

Tossing off the blankets, I swing my feet onto the floor and quietly tiptoe to the bathroom, careful not to wake up my newly engaged roommate.

I try not to focus on the sick feeling occupying space in my stomach as I wash my face, brush my teeth, and throw my hair into a ponytail. Nice bags under my eyes. The swollen, puffy, no-sleep look is
so
hot. But what do I care? Not like I have a boyfriend.

But I do have two mothers.

And one foster dad. One foster grandma.

One foster dog.

And one heart pulled in opposite directions like a tug-of-war.

After changing into some shorts and grabbing my iPod, I walk
downstairs into the kitchen. I scribble a note for James and Millie and head out the front door.

The early morning Texas sun seems to hesitate in rising today, but I know the gray clouds will burn off soon. Wish my bad mood would.

I scroll through the iPod until it blasts some up-tempo Black-Eyed Peas in my ears.

And then I run.

Soaring up the driveway and striding onto our road, I run like the wind.

A very slow, tired wind.

Okay, so running is not my thing.

I have a side-stitch, and I’ve barely made it past the mailbox. I suck in air and force it back out, desperate to drag up some energy from somewhere in this tired, sad body.

My Nikes pound the pavement, and I work to clear my head. To focus on the light breeze. The spring flowers. The glisten of the morning dew. The sight of —

Ew
. The dog poo I nearly stepped in.

Ring-a-ling! Ring-a-ling!

I rip out an ear bud and look behind me.

Maxine. Doing figure eights in the street with her tandem bike.

“Hey, Toots!” She rings her little bike bell again and smiles big. “Thought you could use a little company.”

I face straight ahead again and continue my determined attempt at running.

She pedals ahead then swoops around me in a circle. “You’re up awfully early. Training for the Olympics?”

I had been so quiet when I had gotten up so I wouldn’t wake her. Why did I even bother? It’s like she has some sort of inner radar and knows where I am at all times. Like a few months ago when she caught me at a party I was
definitely
not supposed to be at.

“Since when did you start running?” She stands up on her pedals and the breeze ruffles her yellow bob.

I inhale. “Since” — exhale — “this morning.”

“Is this supposed to be a stress reliever? Because I could think of a hundred better ways to relieve stress. We could sneak over and jump on the neighbor’s trampoline again.”

“Yes, this is a stress reliever. And I feel better already. It’s clearing my head right up.” I think I’m gonna hurl. I’ve had a lot of running experience this past year in PE, but I don’t usually work out on an empty stomach, zero sleep, and with the weight of the entire universe on my shoulders.

“Why dontcha get on my bike? We can take a ride.”

“No, thanks.” Six forty-five and I’m sweating like a pig. No wonder the birds aren’t up yet. I’m scaring them away with my BO.

“Aw, come on. Get on the bike. I won’t make you do all the pedaling this time.”

“How sweet.” Why didn’t I bring any water with me? “Look, Maxine, I just want to be alone. I want to run off some steam and be by myself.”

“I think you need company.”

“Well, I don’t.”

“I think you want to talk.”

“You’re wrong.”

“Well, maybe
I
need to talk. And I’m on my way to buy donuts.”

“I am committed to this run, Maxine. Nothing you can say is going to deter me from my goal. Your words are powerless.”

“You can have extra sprinkles.”

I screech to a halt. “Stop the bike.”

And Maxine hands me my helmet.

A BOX OF DONUTS, TWO EXTRA-LARGE mochas, and an hour and a half later, my foster grandmother and I return to the house.

My mom’s rusty Mercury sits in the driveway.

“It’s only eight thirty. What’s
she
doing here?” Maxine asks as we pedal the bike to the front porch.

Good question. My mom is more a stay-up-all-night-and-sleep-all-day kind of girl.

We open the front door, and I inhale the coffee smell drifting from the kitchen.

“In here, ladies!” Millie calls.

Maxine and I exchange a look and walk into the kitchen.

Millie and my mom sit at the table in the breakfast nook and sip from steaming mugs. In the kitchen, James waves at me with his spatula then flips a pancake.

“You hungry?” He wiggles his eyebrows like this is a cute, happy moment.

Well, it’s not. I have two worlds colliding in my kitchen right now. I’m hurt, confused, and scared. Not to mention I clearly forgot to apply deodorant before my early morning jog.

“Everything okay, hon?” Millie pats the seat beside her then gets up and heads toward the coffee maker.

“Sure.” I paste on a smile and make eye contact with everyone.
See, people. I’m smiling
. Smiling at Mom. Smiling at the Scotts and Maxine. Like it is
totally
normal to be having coffee and flapjacks with the mom who’s ignored me for the past year and the people who have changed my life. Yes, I’ll have butter with that.

“We called your mom to see if she’d have breakfast with us. I think we’d all like to get to know one another better.” Millie smiles and hands me a cup of coffee as she sits back down.

She slides the skim milk and sugar toward me.

My mom takes it back. “Katie likes her coffee black.”

Millie’s smile freezes. She looks at me.

I look at my mom.

I rescue the milk and sugar. “Things have changed.” I pour the milk in my coffee, adding a little extra because . . . well, I don’t know why. Because for some reason this ticks me off. The woman hasn’t contacted me in over a year and now she’s telling Millie how to fix my breakfast?

My mom clears her throat. “I guess I never had the money for extras
in the coffee, being a single mother and all.”

Yeah, and the fact you forgot to get groceries on a regular basis
. Like every day that ends in Y.

“Here you go, ladies. My special blueberry pancakes. Who wants whipped cream?” James arrives at the table bearing a two-foot-tall stack of pancakes. My stomach lurches.

“Um . . . I’m not hungry.”

He frowns. “You feeling okay?”

“Yeah, Maxine and I got a light snack this morning on our ride.” Maxine called it a snack. I call it six donuts. And a few éclairs. All right, and half a Danish.

“Bring on the whipped cream. Yes, sir. Pour it on.” Maxine parks herself in a chair next to my mom and rubs her hands. “I pedaled myself into a good appetite.”

“So . . . Bobbie Ann” — Millie picks up her fork and cuts into a piece of cantaloupe on her plate — “I was saying that Katie has a home here for as long as she’d like. As long as you’d like.”

My mom looks up from her plate, her faced scrunched in confusion.

“I mean, if you didn’t feel for certain you were ready to return to full-time parenting, then that would be totally understandable. I’m sure pursuing . . . recovery can be a huge responsibility all on its own.”

“Huh?” My mom swallows a bite.

“What Millie’s trying to say is, we don’t want you to rush your recovery process. Katie is thriving here with us.” James lays his big hand on mine. “So if you feel having Katie with you right now would add to your stress, then we’d love for her to stay with us longer.”